


The Wolf Youngling

by Valkyrjan



Series: Norse Transformers Tales [2]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Contains Icelandic Words, Flashbacks, Gen, Golden Age, Orphan - Freeform, Pre-War, Student Ratchet, TFP - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkyrjan/pseuds/Valkyrjan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet knows many things. Some he shares to tell, others he doesn't. There's one secret he cannot mention to the other team members. The secret hides about the real name only he knows: Viðar.</p>
<p>*This is written after a writing prompt made by Idareyoutowrite.Tumblr.com*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf Youngling

* * *

“Ugh… another bad solar cycle. Fifth solar cycle in the row...”

The young medical white and orange student sighed disappointed on himself. The entire solar cycle was a mass, a catastrophic one. First, he arrived a bit late but it was only the first time ever occurring so he got only a warning. Then there was a triple vehicle accident that forced seven Cybertronians into the medical headquarters he was studying and practicing to become a highly educated medic for three lunar cycles before the exams will arrive. He’d rushed back and forth between the badly damaged patients to support more assistance to the struggling medics. Fortunately, all of them were still alive for now, something he felt relieved.

But then another accident occurred one mega cycle later, more or less, and this time it was a youngling who got collided by a Cybertronian who was in his or her vehicle mode and didn’t see the little one until the impact moment. Unfortunately to tell was that the youngling was sent into intensive care apartment since the little one’s injuries were so severe that it was an unbelievable miracle the youngling stayed alive.

Towards the incoming late afternoon, the end of the practice solar cycle was approaching. Ratchet felt so exhausted that he wanted to get home as possible and take an early call for recharge. When his chronometer clicked in for the end of the solar cycle, he hesitated nothing to hurry up and leave the medical quarters as fast as Ratchet can make. Once he got out, Ratchet decided to walk home instead driving through the main roads in Iacon where he lived.

A walk would not harm. It could work as long he ignored everyone walking on the sidewalks and focused on himself.

Ratchet activated the bank containing his favorite music that helped him to concentrate, relax and enjoy himself inside his CPU as he began walking. It was crowded on the streets like always. Every Cybertronian spent their daily lives on regular routines. It was typical. But this afternoon was not going to be an ordinary one as Ratchet predicted.

While walking towards a corner of the street, the medical student’s attention got hooked by a sudden noise. It came from an alley next to him in front. It noised like something or _someone_ was digging on something plastic metal that was thrown into trashes. At first he didn’t think about it much. He assumed it must come from a cat or perhaps a dog Cybertronian. Pets in many different shapes were common in Iacon. Yet, Ratchet could not help himself to get curious about the noises. Nearing closer, he threw a fast gaze round the corner and spotted nothing at first, but then a short minute later he saw movements.

Two peds kicked in the air while the rest of the body was hidden under the locker of a large trash container. Ratchet heard how the digging scavenged up anything that might be consumable. Then the little one fled out and the locker clashed with a loud thud as the shadowy being jumped down on its tiny peds.

It was a youngling. But what a strange-looking one which he’d expected nothing for. Ratchet saw that the youngling, a mechling, had a thin and metallic furry tail. More fur was spotted on the slim thighs, covering over them somewhat completely except the inner parts.

“Hey, little one,” he shouted low to not gain attention.

Ratchet walked into the shadowy alley but only four steps triggered the mechling to cast a gaze at him and posed into defense position.

“Hey, hey, easy little one,” he cooed with raised servos, waving them slightly for reassurance. It failed as the mechling growled with barred dentas. “It’s alright. I’m not going to harm you.”

It was then he saw that the mechling had wolf ear-like audio receptors; blue ones with light gray furred parts inside them. His upper frame armor was painted red, the abdominal area silvery gray and the legs between gray and blue. The fur on the thighs was blue too. The tail was blue and gray. His face was lightly gray with a blue helmet having a forehead crest, the young optics lightly sapphire blue ones with small lightly blue pupils. The mechling’s black optic ridges arched in suspicion as he glared at Ratchet, growling furiously like a teased dog.

And he was really a skinny and dirty one too. He was suffering by starvation which it was unthinkable for the Iacon people. Still, it was occurring more often that everyone ignored to see, hear and speak about. Worst place that had high levels for starving people and orphaned younglings was Kaon. Was the mechling from Kaon? Ratchet assumed for it firstly, but sensed that it can’t be more possible as Kaon lay pretty far away from Iacon. It’d be a long wandering for the youngling, something Ratchet barely believed he’d survive. The dirty armor was rust-brown in filthy dirt, though not infected by rust fortunately. But there was no doubt that the youngling was an orphan.

“Little mech, you don’t need to growl at me,” Ratchet tried to use another method to calm the red and blue mechling. He spoke softly in a friendly tune.

“ **Koma ekki nær, ókunnugur,** ” suddenly the mechling spoke.

“What?” the student understood nothing from the language the mechling said. It sounded very much ancient with a mysterious cling in it. The words came out like quick, yet long lyrics that enchanted every living being near the youngling. Ratchet had never heard a language like that one before.

“ **Koma ekki, nær,** ” the orphan repeated the words again, then added more: “ **Ef þú vilja að lifa, dvelur í burtu frá mér.** ”

“What are you saying, youngling?” Ratchet tried to talk, hoping if the little one can understand his native glossa. It proved that he was wrong.

“ **Þú skilur ekki, ókunnugur,** ” the youngling snarled warningly. “ **Þú ert ekki öruggur hér.** ”

“Little one, I do not understand a word what you’re saying,” getting frustrated as a result of a bad solar cycle, Ratchet raised his voice a bit higher than he wanted as he walked closer towards the youngling when the little one surprised him.

The orphan leapt into the air, back-flipping and landed in its alternative mode. He was transformed into a wolf puppy who snarled with barred teeth, the sapphire optics transformed into wolf optics. His back was protected in a thick layer of blue fur. The red armor fitted on the shoulders and the forelegs while the silvery gray and blue armor suited on the abdomen, the hind legs and the tail that stood tall like an arrow. The paws were gray sealed with red and blue knuckled plates.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Ratchet hushed the angry wolf puppy. “I told you I’m not going to harm you.”

“ **Ég trúi ekki á þig,** ” the wolf mechling barked. “ **Enginn getur er treystandi…** ”

It was then Ratchet noticed the youngling carried a necklace around its furry neck. A thin, rust-free iron chain with a bird cranium; it didn’t appear like it came from a Cybertronian one. It was a boned cranium with broad, long and black beak. Its wide eye holes were empty.

_The language. What origin is it coming from_ , the student tried to figure out the unknown language’s origin but then realized that it was as complicated as unmentioned among Cybertronians. Perhaps he can find in the earliest archives; if he’s lucky to find one for sure.

“ **Þú…** **láttu mér vera,** ” then the little one backed several steps backwards, fading into the shadows so only the glowing orbs shone in the dark.

Confused, Ratchet was about to call after him but couldn’t even open his mouth before he was already gone. _What the scrap are you, mechling_ , he wondered more worried than jumbled.

* * *

Afternoon moved over to evening and evening was slowly turning into twilight. Inside his perfectly organized home quarters, Ratchet satisfied himself with a relaxed time at the private washing rack and took a long moment bathing on the warm oil before he prepared himself for a good but single high grade drink. He cannot drink high grade; max two drinks was allowed. It was a major rule on the working place that no medic shall arrive drunk.

Outside, the dwelling twilight swallowed the dying lights from the sun. Suddenly an unexpected rumble came from outside. It was an acid rain that arrived without warning. Usually it’d be weather reports to alert every Cybertronian for any signs of acid rains. Acid rains were one of the dangers he knew since he was a youngling. Those who go outside unprotected would risk a painful experience as the rain roasted through their sheltered armor.

“Ah, I’m so lucky not be outside right now,” he told for himself while seeing the wide-spread ominous clouds quickly hid the two moons away, blocking all lights from the night sky and highlighted them in all variation of colors from the city lights. But just as it happened he thought on the wolf orphan with realization that he was out there, lost, starving and unsheltered without a caretaker to nurse him.

His spark began pulsing on an alarming rate as guilt clouded his CPU. Ratchet got the feeling of responsibility. So he hurried to the exit door and went outside, facing the risk to get soaked and feel the burning pain. In fast rate he changed to his white and orange medical vehicle mode and drove off. Fortunately there was a tiny traffic on the roads much to his delight. Stress pumped through his Energon vein system with intensive heat.

“Where are you, kid?” he begged desperately. Just then, his proximity radar detected a tiny red spot hiding in a slim alley. It was a weak life signal much to his fear.

Once parked next to the alley, he transformed back to his robot form and entered into the dark alley, following the weakening signal. There. Hidden under a metal box as a shelter laid the orphan, shuddering in cold and coughing. He’d curled up to preserve the last remaining warmth he can have left.

Without hesitation, Ratchet kneeled down, stretching his servos and took the gentlest grip he’d ever made on the youngling. He discovered that the mechling was freezing cold and having difficulty to vent properly with enough of oxygen. The student folded the orphan tightly in his arms and went out from the alley, transforming back to his vehicle mode and drove off. The mechling was getting weaker by every minute which triggered Ratchet to push the acceleration gear to obtain more speed. Then the rain poured down its aching drops that hammered hard on the thick-layered frame, spreading the roasting pain which released the burning flame throughout him.

It felt like an eternity when Ratchet arrived to his home despite it took only much less than half a mega cycle. The student rushed inside while carrying the freezing youngling and headed straight to his berth quarters where a blanket made in thick fabric rested. He used it a lot because he tended to freeze during recharge times.

Quickly, yet smoothly he wrapped the blanket around the youngling, then laying him with care on the berth. Ratchet listened on the coughs with concern. He walked with rushing peds to one of the shelves, grabbing a container which stored medical tools and equipment. His servo gripped one scanner equipment and then a spark stethoscope to listen on the youngling’s spark chamber and ventilation tanks.

He started first with listening on the venting. The coughing sounded bad. It told him the possible causes of it; ventilation tank pneumonia, icy tanks and a sore throat gear caused by frost. Frost did occur during the long, dark season when the sun was as longest away from Cybertron half a stellar cycle. Ratchet listened after any physical signs of pneumonia that was the dangerous cause of the number of deaths among younglings with its main cause yet not resolved.

It became a terrifying reality. The youngling was suffering by ventilation tank pneumonia as he could hear how full with liquids splashing inside his tanks was. But he was still lucky. So far, Ratchet hadn’t seen him coughing up Energon. It estimated that the orphan must be in the first or second stage of the three stages the pneumonia had. The first stage was the easily treatable. The second one had the signs of ventilation tanks that were filling up with liquids. The third stage was the worst one; it meant tanks completely full with liquids that makes venting in and out air hard and the final sign was coughing Energon, which meant the ventilation got damaged and was bleeding inside.

Ratchet realized that the orphan was beginning to reach the third stage as the fluid-full tanks caused him to cough sorely. “Oh no…” he whispered like it was forbidden to speak a word when pneumonia was mentioned. “Hang on, little one. I have some medication.”

That was right. He stored some medication he received from the practice as reassurance in case he’d encounter a local Cybertronian who was sick or injured and required medical attention. He was thankful for the highly respected medics to give them as gift for his well-done behaviors, concentration and medical skills. To make things better, they gave him one or two antibiotics that functioned for ventilation tanks illnesses.

Ratchet took both of the two medications in belief of one or both of them may work against the pneumonia. Then he grasped a syringe, sticking in the needle inside one of antibiotics and filled it up to the estimated level depending on the weight of the youngling. But before he injected it, Ratchet scanned with precision for more signs of trouble. He detected a squeezed oil tank caused by lacking of Energon and it was the result of his starvation. Otherwise, he found no more worrying troubles. And finally he injected the antibiotic needled through a thick Energon vein inside the left elbow gear.

The mechling didn’t react of the sticking pain. He coughed worse than Ratchet hoped for. It got urgent by now. Yet, all he can do now was watching over the sick youngling and hope for the best. But then he began considering of the youngling’s condition. Earlier he showed no signs of pneumonia. Was it a sudden event? Or was that he hid it from revealing it in front of the student?

_Primus, I beg you_ , Ratchet prayed for millionth time. _Show mercy to this orphan and give him a second chance._

* * *

The next dawn arrived quite early for Ratchet. He woke up surprisingly earlier than usually. Luckily though it was a free solar cycle from practice work for him after six solar cycles’ intensive work, and he was relieved to get a seventh solar cycle’s day off in order to recover from six intensive solar cycles. Slowly rising up, he found out he’d fallen recharge on the floor. He did that for compassion; the little one had taken his berth. The student got up on his sleepy feet, wobbled forward to the berth for a check on the youngling. His coughs were still heard, only milder this time unlike the tough ones from last night.

He was still recharging and his internal temperature had returned to the regular level suitable for a youngling much to his relief. Still, it was not over yet. The mechling’s future hanged on a thin thread between life and death. Ratchet felt anxious when he thought he heard something.

“ **Móðir…** ”

It came from the recharging mechling, curled up inside the wrapped blanket, yet shaking by cold and coughed weakly. He spoke in the unknown language once again.

“ **Móðir…** ”

The little one mumbled sickly after someone. But what did the word mean?

“Mechling, shhh, it’s alright,” Ratchet neared into him and cooed softly as the orphan was waking up. Outstandingly he didn’t attack or even growl at Ratchet this time. Instead, what he saw was that the complete exhaustion shone on the sick optics.

“ **Móðir… hvar ert þú?** ” the little one said as if he was begging someone to return. Slowly as his optics opened up more, he looked at Ratchet for a long, silent moment before he said: “ **Hver ert þú, ókunnugur?** ”

“Me? My name is Ratchet,” Ratchet introduced his name. “I’m a medic. Well, a studying apprentice to be correct.”

“ **Ég… ég hringdi Viðar…** ”

“Viðar? Is that your name?”

The little one nodded. “ **Já. Ég er Viðar…** ”

* * *

_Viðar._

Ratchet was thoughtful. Now old and experienced medic, he sat on his berth and remembered all the memories from the days from the Golden Age and the youngling he adopted shortly after Viðar recovered from the pneumonia. He had grown attached to the little wolf youngling. He’d behaved the surrogate sire pretty well. Yet… the youngling he watched over was a hard enigma. It was harder than he’d thought.

_Who are you really,_ Ratchet questioned mentally.

Then he shrugged, deciding to go out from his quarters and check on the monitors. Walking through the corridors inside the headquarters, he could not help constantly thinking on Viðar. When he arrived in the main hall where the GroundBridge stood inactivated, he sensed a presence he didn’t detect earlier that forced the old medic to swing around and met the tall, red and blue Prime who stood behind him and glanced down.

“Optimus,” Ratchet greeted him, startled over his sudden appearance. “I didn’t expect you being here in base.”

No reply came from the Prime. Instead the old medic noticed a sense of serious concern that told him something was wrong. Ratchet had no problem reading on his old friend’s optics.

“What’s troubling you?” he asked.

“… I’ve noticed you’ve been thoughtful lately,” now Optimus spoke.

“Y-Yes, I have,” Ratchet stammered slightly, a bit surprised hearing the words from Optimus. “How did you figured it out –“

“I sensed it. You know I can sense things better than anyone in our team,” the Prime cut in. “You haven’t been thinking about the humans, am I right?”

“No, I have not thought about the human children. But actually… I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I’ve been thinking about… your first language.”

As it happened Optimus turned his back against him, clenched his fists hard and tensed up his tall body, not saying a word. He was close to walk away when Ratchet halted him. “Wait, Viðar!”

“Don’t say my name,” Optimus snarled, not paying a moment for an optic contact. “You know you’re not allowed to say my real name.”

“I know and I haven’t broken my promise. I’ve never mentioned your name to our team members.”

Then the Prime swung around hastily with a sharp glare at the medic. “And yet you still call me Viðar…”

“That’s because it’s your real name. We’ve hidden our secret since the night when –“

“When Sköll crash-landed on Cybertron and swallowed me alive. Yes, I know that very well.”

“Viðar… I’ve been bewildered over the language you used to speak when you were a youngling.”

Optimus raised an optic ridge, stoic even if the anger reflected on his gaze.

“I haven’t heard you spoken with it for a very long time now. I’ve been wondering over its origin and how you got it on first place,” Ratchet explained.

“That’s… something you’ll never understand,” the Prime was melancholic, somehow willing to tell more but fought against it simultaneously.

“Oh come on, Viðar, don’t be like that now again!” getting frustrated, Ratchet gestured hasty and unpredictable servo movements. “You know I want to help you.”

“I’m aware of that, old friend. But there are things not even you are allowed to know from me.”

“And those are if I may ask friendly?”

Silence struck between them. Tension rose high like an ignited spark that created a chain reaction as flames spread across electric wires, heating and burning them up. None of them gave up breaking the pause. It was a test to see who the winner was who stayed longest as silent. None of them moved a muscle cable.

Then a sigh broke the silence. Ratchet lost the test. “You know very much how much I care about you,” he looked on the Prime. “But at same time I want to know more about your true origin.”

Still no word coming from the Prime who looked down at his old friend while Ratchet continued: “When you were little… you used to call after someone while you were recharging.”

Still not a single word was heard and no expression revealed on Optimus’ facial features except a twitch on one of his optic ridges and cracking knuckles from hard clenched fists. But then he spoke up finally after a long, tensed moment of silence: “ **Móðir…** ”

“Yes, that’s the thing I used to hear you saying that,” Ratchet insisted, nodding. “But who’s móðir?”

Optimus swallowed like he struggled to fight back against the urge to suffer a breakdown in front of the medic. He stayed as strongest as he’d ever been before. “She abandoned me when I was only a youngling long before I met you, old friend,” he began telling. “I don’t remember much what really happened to me. All I remember was that she flew away with her six wings.”

“Six wings? Was she a seeker?” Ratchet asked, interested.

“Those wings weren’t regular seeker wings. They were eagle wings.”

“Eagle wings?”

“Yes… and the word, móðir, it means ‘mother’.”

The medic thrusted up his optics, shocked over the mentioned word mother. “Wait, so the one you’ve kept calling when you were a youngling… was it your carrier you cried after?”

“That’s right. I cried after my carrier. And to this day, I still beg her to come back to me,” Optimus confessed, frowning in sadness. “I want to see her again and get my questions answered. But I’ve doubted much to get the tiniest chance.”

“Oh, Viðar,” Ratchet neared closer, reaching a hand and touched the Prime’s left servo. “Don’t give up hope. You will find her one day. You’ve got to endure and hold your hope high.”

The Prime shrugged. His broad shoulders dropped down in a heavier weight than the weight of leadership. He swallowed again, fighting against the urge to break down by the inner and eternal pain he’d carried since younglinghood. He missed his carrier so much that he’d do everything to find and see her for the very first time since ages. The clenched fists hardened tighter.

“I… I need to be alone,” was the only words that came out from Optimus before he turned his back against the old medic and walked away with fast steps.

The Prime hurried back to his private quarters where he shut the double doors closed automatically from inside so nobody could get inside without asking for permission. Once inside the cold and silent quarters, Optimus exhaled a heavy sigh, then inhaling and then exhaling in and out as he fought against the heating agony from within his body.

**_Grouuaaaagh!_ **

In an instant, Optimus unleashed a swift strike against the wall before him. Five long scars ran across the concreate. He then rose up his right servo where its digits had become white clawed and thick ones that gave the appearance of a deadly weapon. He panted slowly, yet loudly like he had run an incredible marathon alone as he stared at his changed servo. Tiny white electric sparks kindled between the digits and the palm glowed up by a white circle with an inner rune he recognized it easily as the _Algiz,_ the rune of protection.

The rune was the first summoned one from the earliest stellar cycles when he was just a youngling. He remembered barely anything. All the earliest memories he stored was the last time he saw his carrier.

“ **Móðir… hvar ert þú?** ” he said. It was then the first tears glittered on the corners of his half closed optics.


End file.
